


Ties of Blood

by TheStraggletag



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: But it's "cursed" incest, F/M, It's not really incest, This one's weird guys, cursed!faux!incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/pseuds/TheStraggletag
Summary: There’s nothing more tragic than to rip two lovers apart, except putting the broken pieces together wrong. Never say the Evil Queen doesn’t know about revenge.





	Ties of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT an incest fic. It is, however, a “lovers are cursed to think they’re brother and sister” fic so it IS kinda an incest thing, in a way. Let us all remember fanfiction is full of things we would rather NOT see happen in real life, just so the hate is kept to a minimum. If it’s not your think then please, don’t read. There are hundreds of other amazing Rumbelle stories out there waiting for you.

Rent day was never easy. The people of Storybrooke were under the mistaken impression the landlord lived for those days, for the threatening and the squeezing people dry, but it was a common misconception, one he was careful to never act against. It served his purpose to have people think it gave him a thrill to go around one by one collecting the money he was rightfully owed. It tended to dissuade people from trying to slip by him or make excuses as to why they didn't have the money and how they just needed a bit more time. For the more problematic tenants he had Dove, the gentle giant who couldn't hurt a fly but looked like he was one nasty look away from snapping and going on a killing spree with his bare hands.

As always, he finished his rounds with Granny's, after which he limped back home, feeling the stress of the day melt away with each step he took. Even so he all but collapsed on his favourite Chesterfield club chair, feeling the butter-soft leather as his hands gripped the armrests. Its low back didn't quite allow him to lean back comfortably, but it was precisely that feature he loved the most. The reason why made her appearance a few seconds later, wrapping her arms around him from behind and resting her forehead against his lower jaw, allowing him to press his face against her hair. The shampoo she used smelled faintly citrusy and distinctively like home.

"How's your ankle?"

He felt the words against the side of his neck, the beautiful accent wrapping around each one, as thick as his own. Belle planted a kiss on his cheek before rising to pour them both a cup of tea. She'd made a batch of shortbread in preparation for rent day, to help cajole a smile or two out of him, and the buttery taste was enough to get rid of most of the tension settled on his shoulders. He was the one that did the cooking on a regular basis, a secret hobby of his. But Belle loved baking, and it showed.

"A bit swollen, it's been a long day. Chased three tenants up and down town, almost had to run Mr Clark over before he stopped trying to squirm away. Would've made a mess of the Caddy."

Belle's laugh washed over him, one of his favourite sounds. It was genuine and free, embodying her to a T. She didn't laugh easily though, and had an endearing predilection for his brand of dark humour, the kind that made most people shudder. That little quirk of hers unsettled everyone else, he knew, but it warmed him right up.

"Did you wear that shirt for me? I know you hate it."

She gestured to her checkered skirt which, indeed, matched his shirt almost perfectly. He liked to do that, to incorporate a particular colour, texture or pattern she wore into his own outfit so they seemed like a matching pair. Silly, of course, but he couldn't help it. He wanted everyone, at all times, to be reminded of who Belle was connected to, who she belonged to in the more basic way.

"Nonsense, it's just a happy coincidence."

Belle made a noncommittal sound, clearly not buying it.

"Any other surprises? No fights with Moe French, I hope."

She had a soft spot for the hapless florist, for some reason. Moe French was a useless waste of space, with no head for business and a perpetual sheen of transpiration, no matter the time of the day or the temperature. He could be counted on for two things: being late on the rent and always stocking hydrangeas, which happened to be Belle's favourite flower. It was likely the reason why he hadn't evicted the lowlife yet.

"He forked over the money eventually, after swearing up and down he didn't have it, of course. Oh, and..." he paused, frowning, feeling a wave of SOMETHING wash over him. The stranger at Granny's, he'd forgotten about her for a moment. Which was odd, because the moment he'd seen her, heard her name, it was as if his world had tilted, had shifted in some profound way. It had been deeply unpleasant, as used as he was to micromanaging every aspect of his existence, but coming home to Belle had for a moment made him forget. "There's someone new in town. An Emma Swan. Has the looks of a troublemaker."

"Well, that's unusual. Can't remember the last time anyone came from out of town."

For a moment that gave him pause. Wasn't it strange, after all? Storybrooke might be small and quaint, but it should still attract tourists and the occasional wanderer. And yet he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a new face around town.

"You're in deep thought. Guess this Emma Swan's made a bit of an impression."

Belle's tone was mildly suggestive, only hinting at something. He pretended he didn't notice, humming in pleased surprised when Belle combed a hand through his shaggy hair, murmuring something about him needing a trim. He staid absolutely still as she petted him absentmindedly, something she did when she thought he needed some human contact. Sometimes he wondered if Belle was as physical as she was because he was so touch-starved, as if she'd learned to compensate.

"You're the only woman in my life, sweetheart, and I rather prefer to keep it that way."

He took her hand and kissed it, trying to push the memories of his time before her to the back of his mind. She smiled at him, and as if she knew of the unwelcome thoughts in his head, leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"You need to make room for more than just your little sister, Rabbie."

"Nonsense."

* * *

In spite of his put-on nonchalance Gold found that, indeed, Miss Swan had made an impression on him that first night because he found himself wondering about her almost relentlessly over the next few days. For some reason her name pressed into his mind, as if it was trying to jostle something inside. To try and get rid of the feeling he set out to learn as much as he could about the newcomer, and what he found out was extremely interesting, indeed. Emma Swan, biological mother to one Henry Mills, teenage delinquent turned bailsbonds person, who seemed to have no personal attachments whatsoever. A product of the American foster care system, apparently, discovered lying on the side of the road hours after being born... just outside Storybrooke.

What were the odds?

Miss Swan, contrary to what her commitment-phobic background would suggest, seemed to be leaning towards staying around for the time being, apparently at the behest of her son. She seemed to have more than a few misgivings about Madam Mayor's parental abilities, not that he could blame her. Other than Regina's patently-clear emotional issues it said a lot about her that her ten-year-old son had ended up alone in New York City. He bet the kid had snuck out while Regina enjoyed her bi-weekly... meeting with Sheriff Graham. Getting a nanny or someone to mind the child would have potentially exposed her trysts to the general public, so he figured she left him alone with a stern warning to stay put.

There was something to gain out of all of this, he considered. Emma Swan was an exciting new weapon against the mayor. Untried and untested, for sure, but with boundless potential. Already she seemed to be having a bit of an effect in town, if her newfound friendship with mousy Miss Blanchard was anything to go by. And then there was that strange episode with the comatose patient... Not that he could really blame it on Emma Swan, but it felt like too much of a coincidence, all the connections there.

Belle was uneasy about the newcomer.

"I just worry about how serious she is regarding Henry. The kid already adores her, I don't wanna know what will happen to him once Miss Swan decides she's had enough of Storybrooke."

Gold knew little Henry Mills was a regular at the library, and not just for the books. Belle often told him the boy sat down to do his homework or read his comic books. For him it was a safe place away from home. And his sister, bleeding heart that she was, had gotten attached. Henry Mills was a charming little boy, after all, he couldn't blame her.

"Oh, I wouldn't count on it. Miss Swan looks quite determined. Ready to take on the Mayor herself for the wee lad. It's quite commendable."

"She already gave him up once, remember?"

He didn't reply to that, knowing that parental love was a sore spot for Belle. Instead he gently squeezed her waist as she passed by, a silent reminder that she was loved.

* * *

He was looking to try and figure out a way to get a bit of power over the woman when Ashley Boyd gave him a golden opportunity. Stupid, feckless girl, with very little impulse control and no common sense, but her sudden attempt at skipping town without paying her dues ended up working in his favour. It was almost worth the concussion he'd given himself after being attacked by the pregnant little chit, and he had to admit that his puffy eyes and the gash on his forehead did make him look the right sort of pitiful for Miss Swan to brush aside the rumours of his reputation that she has, surely, heard already. Getting her to agree to locating Ashley was easier than even he anticipated, and Miss Swan's guilty body language hinting that she might have had an involvement in Miss Boyd's decision to quit town.

He had to force his feet not to carry him to the library the minute he was out of Miss Blanchard's apartment. His eyes stung and the cut on his forehead felt like it was on fire and he wanted nothing more than to go to Belle, to let himself be petted and tended to lovingly. He remembered skinning his knees as a child or cutting himself while out playing, remembered first the utter indifference of his parents and then the well-meaning but awkward touch of the "aunts" he'd been left with when his parents high-tailed it to Australia, running away from trouble and responsibility (him being the main responsibility). His aunts had loved him, but in a stilted, strangely devoid of touch way, the only way they knew how to love him. But then Belle had come into his life again and she had made him addicted to loving touches. Hugs, kisses, passing touches in the arm or the back and, of course, caring, loving touches when he was sick or injured. He used to hate it when she tried to approach him when he was weak, the product of his upbringing, but Belle had patiently wormed her way in so thoroughly that he now had to actively fight the instinct to get to her.

As a child she'd treated her role as his own personal nurse very seriously. She had put band-aids on every tiny little cut he'd ever gotten, had applied antiseptic with the precision of a surgeon, telling him sternly not to move. She'd always kissed his injuries after patching him up, what she called the "kiss cure". His cut was certainly in dire need of a kiss, but it was necessary to see things through first. Time was of the essence, as it turned out. Like he had predicted Miss Boyd did not manage to get too far from Storybrooke- not even past the town line. He hadn't counted on her going into labour, though he couldn't deny it helped his plans immensely, gave the situation an urgency that would play in his favour.

But news in Storybrooke travelled fast, and so he wasn't surprised when his sister walked into the hospital looking for him. Though he knew Miss Swan was watching and it didn't serve his purpose to let her see him so vulnerable he didn't try to stop Belle when she bent down to gently cup his face, cooing in that soft, sweet tone that could put him in a near-catatonic state. For someone so prickly it was stupidly easy how Belle managed to utterly disarm him.

"Oh, my sweet darling..."

She ran her hands through his hair before bending down further to place a feather-light kiss on the cut and two on his swollen eyelids. Though he knew he didn't have time for it, that his confrontation with Miss Swan was important, he wrapped his arms around his sister and rested his head against her lower stomach, breathing in her scent and basking in her warmth. Her hands carded through his hair and, Lord, it was heaven. Almost tempting enough to side-track him, to make him give up his machination. But after a while he straightened out, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. Gently but firmly he told his sister to go home, that he had a deal to close. Belle always respected that, strove to separate herself from his shadier practices, but he did catch the faintly hurt look in her face and the way her eyes darted towards Miss Swan, unsure. True to herself, however, she kissed his cheek and took off.

He was finally confronted by an enraged Emma Swan when he sauntered close for coffee. He'd banked everything on her fledging mothering instinct, in whatever was keeping her in Storybrooke in the first place. She was passionate, for sure, as she rounded in on him for dealing in children. Apparently, her disgust did not translate to Ashley, somehow managing to make this about him buying a child but not her selling one. People were very good in general about making their mistakes somehow into some nefarious plot of his own doing. The conversation, in the end, well exactly as he planned. She was all bluster and self-righteous anger, the right frame of mind to be to start making stupid, rash decisions. And he remained cool and almost playful, sipping at the awful cup of coffee from the hospital machine mainly because he knew it made him look all the more nonchalant. He did a marvellous job of hinting at all he had discovered about her, to throw her off balance, and of hitting all the sore spots in the process, from her voluntary surrender of her baby to the horrors of the system she had grown up in. And in the end, when she thought she had him beat, all cocky and self-assured, he had "conceded", as if this wasn't where he had wanted the conversation to go all along. And just like that he had gotten Miss Swan to owe him a favour. A small thing to others, perhaps, but a powerful tool in his hands.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, Belle's distance and her silence putting a damper on the high he had gotten from deal-making. Familiar, cold fear crept up his spine, like it happened every time he let his dark side out too much. He was always afraid then that Belle would finally see the monster she called brother and leave him, move away and distance herself from him, leaving him alone. Losing his parents had been rough as a child. Losing Belle, though... he didn't think he could survive it.

"Do you ever wonder what it must feel like?"

Her voice was quiet, subdued, very unlike her. It made Gold uneasy.

"What  _what_  must feel like?"

"Being loved by a parent like that. Being wanted as a child. Going to meet the mother you never knew and have her fight so fiercely for you, for no reason other than she gave birth to you."

He knew where this was going and did not like it. Usually Belle was not one to go down memory lane. As much as she had suffered in the past she rarely alluded to any painful events or recollections, always seeming to choose to focus on the present. To a certain extent it was one of Belle's greatest strengths, her resilience and ability to move forward, to hold on to her sweetness and her positive outlook on life. It was also, to a minor extent, a blatant lie, a mask she donned so carefully, so craftily, that almost no one noticed it.

But he did.

"Sometimes... sometimes the past seems like a haze. And I wonder if it's because of... of what happened, or if it's something else."

There was a vaguely worried look about her face, and he felt raw, blind fear grip him. Whenever Belle even as much as alluded to her ordeal he dreaded what it might lead to. Nightmares, usually, and sometimes days on end of disconnection with the rest of the world. Sometimes Belle could burrow so deep inside he wasn't able to reach her. For some reason the sheriff seemed to be able to sniff out whenever Belle was suffering one of her spells and they'd do something, spend some time together. For some reason the sheriff seemed able to connect to Belle in a way he couldn't and, in spite of the lingering jealousy it gave him, he was glad of it.

"I've never wondered, myself. I know what it is to love unconditionally, and have that love be reciprocated." He looked at her intently, adamant about getting his meaning across. "I know what it is to have someone to belong to, to call home. I only regret the years of my childhood I spent waiting for it, waiting for you. Mama and papa might have been right bastards, but they did provide me with a family. They gave me you."

Belle reached out for his hand, and he noticed that hand-holding was something they did often, most of the time unawares.

"I never loved our parents, not in any deep way. I knew it wasn't safe. But you... I loved you the moment I saw you, the instant you were in my arms. You were mine and I was yours and I knew then what it felt to have a family."

She squeezed his fingers gently, her long nails scratching his skin pleasantly.

"I wish I could remember. But I know that, ever since I can remember, you've been the first person to catch my attention. My first memory. You and Peter Rabbit."

* * *

Change seemed to be everywhere, which was unusual in Storybrooke. Ashley Boyd's ordeal was big news for a while, along with her reconciliation with baby daddy Sean Hermann, against his father's express wishes. Everyone thought it incredibly romantic, though Gold thought it rather trite, not to mention fickle. Two teenagers raising a child, with one of then barely now acknowledging the child was actually his, was lunacy. Thankfully, at least, the boy hadn't gotten it into his head to cross him out of some misguided and rather late sense of chivalry. On the contrary both him and Miss Boyd avoided him as much as possible, even though they were forced to rent one of his smallest properties to live in. Miss Boyd, however, became a frequent presence at the library, to peruse material about child-rearing. And it later evolved into her dumping her little bundle of joy on Belle whenever she had to take the odd job and could not arrange for a friend or cheap baby-sitter. It seemed ridiculous for Ashley to trust the sister of the man she claimed had "tried to take her baby", but in the end everyone knew Mr Gold always kept his deals, and that meant like Alexandra was safe from him.

The child was well-behaved, thankfully, though no one would know that from hearing her mother talk. Having had little to no experience with babes he'd expected the new-born to be fussy and prone to crying, but she was a quiet, rather solemn child. Pretty, too, with wide eyes and pinkish skin, and dressed to the nines thanks to the efforts of Granny Lucas and a gaggle of people she had rather strong-armed into charitable donations. Gold knew that Belle had made her own anonymous contribution, which she had kept secret from him, as if he'd oppose. He rather approved of it. No matter the circumstances the child was not to blame for the way she'd been brought into the world or what her parents had done.

The baby also brought with her a strange freshness to Storybrooke, as if the time before had been stale and lifeless somewhat. She was a constant, unavoidable proof of the change he felt all around him, tugging on his senses, pressing on his brain. The nebulous feeling of forgetting something had turned into a pressing, anxious itch, and little Alexandra with her chubby hands and baby smell for some reason seemed to make it worse. Sometimes when he was in the library and the baby made a sound or fussed and, strangely, he knew exactly what it meant, how to differentiate a sound of hunger from one that meant uneasy digestion. Though he promised himself not to get close to the child, lest someone see him and send Miss Boyd into a panic Belle alone managed the entire library, so it was inevitable that, during a lull in the afternoon, when she was too busy reshelving to look after the baby, she'd ask him to do it. And, though he expected to fumble and fail spectacularly, the moment she'd been in his arms he'd known what to do, as if some sort of muscle memory was kicking in. He had Alexandra burped and soothed in no time at all, leaving his mind free to wander to strange places, images of rustic cottages and the strong smell of sheep plaguing him. It was all accompanied by a strange wave of almost crippling sadness, as if he had lost something, something vital to his very existence, only he couldn't recall what or when.

He was quick to give the child back once Belle came back, his hands twitching in that nervous way of his he always tried to hide. He took several steps back, relieved, trying to dispel the strange feeling having the babe close had caused. Belle held the baby with the certainty of someone who had gotten used to doing it and for a second all he could think about was that Ashely Boyd was taken advantage of his sister's kind and trusting nature to get a free babysitter. Belle already worked hard at the library, volunteered at the also-understaffed local animal shelter and even, on occasion, helped out at Granny's when they were swamped or Granny's arthritis acted up. Adding unpaid nanny to the list of chores seemed more than a bit extreme.

The babe fussed, prompting Belle to gently rock him and coo softly. She made such a pretty picture, clasping the child close as if she was her own, looking at her with such tenderness. And it dawned on him what a lovely mother his sister would make. She was affectionate by nature, though not prone to sharing her most intimate self with a lot of people. Naturally shy and wary she let her guard down only for those closest to her and those too innocent, mainly children and animals. But he'd never before stopped to consider her as a mother. She had never seemed eager to find a bloke, move out, and start a new family, but seeing her with the baby made it clear how right it was. If she wasn't interested in finding a man for that all the better, there was no one in Storybrooke or beyond good enough for her. He could give her a child, a child that would be lovingly raised in their home, lacking nothing in terms of material goods or affection. A child who would have her endless curiosity and, perhaps, his cunning.

He snapped himself out of his daydream as soon as he started imagining a child with his sister's cheekbones and his brown eyes. Adoption was the only way for what he'd been foolishly entertaining. It'd be incongruous for the child in his fantasy to resemble them in any way. And it was entirely possible, likely even, that it'd never come to pass. Belle would likely meet someone, some strapping, able-bodied young buck, and would get married and moved away. And she'd have handsome children who'd call him "Uncle Gold".

For some reason that made his stomach hurt.

* * *

It wasn't often that Gold caved in to his sister's request to eat at Granny's but he'd agreed to meet her at the diner that day, to try and cheer her up. The recent quake at the mines had the Mayor sniffing around the Library with veiled threats regarding its closure due to what she claimed was a "shaky foundation", though she had yet to provide any documentation to support her allegations. After some subtle threatening, and a well-placed please, Regina Mills had relented to only chaining up the doors of the ancient elevator, which hadn't been used in ages anyway as the library had ample storage space in the attic, where the old librarian's apartment had once been. Knowing a burger and some strawberry pie would cheer her up he'd proposed the outing himself, earning an extra-long hug and goodbye kiss that morning. His cell-phone rang just as he was getting ready to close the shop, forcing him to drop the keys to pick up.

"Sweetheart, I was just about to close and go- What's wrong?"

Over the years the Gold siblings had developed an almost uncanny ability to read each other, something that didn't even require them to be face to face. Belle hadn't said anything since he'd picked up the phone, but her breathing was off and he knew- he knew- something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

"Sweetheart, please answer. Where are you?"

"H-hos-hospital..."

His blood turned to ice and for a second he thought it impossible to breathe. He spared a second or two to pull himself together, to calm down. Belle needed him calm.

"Are you injured? Did something happen to you? Was it someone else?"

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, after letting out a wet, pitiful little sigh his sister spoke.

"Graham's dead."

He'd never understood the connection between his sister and the sheriff. It had always seemed to be there, a sort of camaraderie, a companionship different from that she had with him. It wasn't romantic or sexual, at least it had never felt that way to him. The sheriff was an honest, caring man and he supposed a good potential love match for his sister if it had ever come to that, but he was relieved that it never showed signs of progressing in that way. The good sheriff's complicated, unsavoury relationship with the mayor made him dangerous dating material. Regina hated his and Belle's platonic friendship, anything else would have been too much of a provocation for her.

But for whatever reason Belle and Sheriff Graham shared a tight, close bond that had more than once pulled Belle back from some very dark places, from shadowy corners of her mind where even he could not venture. They'd go for walks in the forest mostly, after which they'd get ice-cream and Belle would come home later looking more like herself. Sometimes they went to a movie, the sort Belle knew her brother wouldn't enjoy, or for a bite at Granny's. He hated it, of course, hated how Graham was privy to a part of Belle he could barely scratch the surface of, but he was also deeply thankful. The sheriff could piece his sister back together when he failed, and that made him invaluable in his esteem.

Only now he was dead.

The Caddy took him to the hospital in a flash, and no one even tried to get in his way once inside. One of the older, less jittery nurses led him to the waiting area of the ER. He spotted Miss Swan first, hair in a dishevelled ponytail and face red from crying. She looked fragile for the first time since he'd met her, like she could barely keep herself together. He felt a stab of pity for her. It was unpleasant to see someone so strong, so guarded, be so publicly broken. She was still crying, only she was trying to make it look like she wasn't.

Belle was sitting to the side, looking at the floor. Her hair obscured her face but he knew immediately that her eyes were likely dull and vacant, as if she wasn't there at all. He stamped down the panic that threatened to engulf him and rushed to her side, sinking to his knees as soon as he was near.

"Belle, sweetheart, I'm here."

Gingerly, as if afraid to spook her, he rested a hand on her knee, noticing she didn't seem to register him at all. Too deep inside her own mind. He sat down next to her, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair, willing her to come back to him. She looked stupidly young at the moment, almost child-like.

"I'm here, sweetheart, I'm here. It'll be alright."

Dr Whale strolled by, having the decency to look somehow sympathetic when he passed them by. Everyone in town knew of his sister's friendship with the sheriff, though he gathered few understood the nature of it. Though the sheriff had been beloved he hadn't had many close friends, mostly beer-buddies and some friendly acquaintances. Belle had been the closest thing the man had had to a family, which he supposed meant that they ought to see about his funeral arrangements. Just as he began to make a mental checklist of all that would need taking care of Mayor Mills strolled into the waiting room, her high-heels clacking unpleasantly against the linoleum. She looked distressed, like he would have expected, but also strangely... cold. Detached.

"You fucking bitch!"

It came out of nowhere. One second Belle was unresponsive in his arms, looking dead to the world, and the next he was having to forcefully pull her back as she lounged at the mayor like a madwoman. Though Belle was small he struggled to hold her back, wincing at the strain he was putting his ankle under. It was a testament to how far gone his sister was that she didn't notice. She was usually uncannily attuned to his moods, and in particular to his pain.

"You killed him, you killed him!"

Her screaming attracted the attention of a couple of orderlies and three nurses, but none dared act against her in his presence. He chanced a glance at the mayor, surprised she seemed more rattled about his sister's outburst than was warranted. A second later her usual mask came down and she sneered.

"Control that crazy sister of yours, Mr Gold, before I have her committed in the name of public safety."

As much as he hated to admit it the threat hit home. She caught the gleam of fear in his eyes and smiled, once more the in-control, seductive viper she was.

"After all, she does have a history of... mental imbalance, doesn't she? Spent quite a few years in a padded cell, from what I remember. Perhaps they weren't enough."

Belle finally stopped struggling in his arms, sagging against him and almost sending them both toppling to the floor. He bared his teeth at the mayor, asking her to please leave. Though she seemed put off by it she stormed down in the direction of Dr Whale's office. He sat down heavily on one of the waiting room's uncomfortable plastic chairs, his sister cradled close and sobbing against his shoulder, whimpering over and over about how Regina had killed Graham. It made no sense, as far as he'd gathered Miss Swan was present when Graham had collapsed. Whatever seemed to have happened to the man looked to be a natural occurrence.

Even after it was ruled a heart attack Belle didn't seem convinced, though to his profound relief she didn't seem eager to go after the mayor again. Instead she threw herself on the funeral arrangements, viciously securing the spot on the local cemetery closest to the forest. Burying him in the actual woods was impossible, regulations and all, but his sister was adamant Graham's resting place would be as close to the wild as she could make it. She made sure the headstone was simple and was adamant about there being no flowers at the funeral, but rather people donate the money to the animal shelter.

The event itself was simple and classy, with Dr Hopper leading it and saying a few words. Belle herself didn't participate in any way other than attending, choosing to stay near the Lucases. She had dressed up for the occasion in a lace Zac Posen dress and a Burberry coat, her armour against Regina, a subtle power-play of sorts. She was beautiful in her grief, now that the sting of it had lost its freshness, pale and distant, like some sort of winter maiden. They'd barely spoken or interacted since leaving the hospital, the metaphorical distance between them making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

"It was nice of you to arrange this. I was dreading having to bear Regina organising Graham's funeral."

Emma Swan sidled up to him, wearing black skinny jeans and a blouse under a black coat, her red leather jacket forgotten for the occasion. Her posture was loose but her eyes tight, tension visible in them.

"I didn't do anything, this was all Belle. They were... The sheriff and she were close."

He saw her tense more out of the corner of his eye and smiled joylessly.

"Mind out of the gutter, Miss Swan. Belle and Graham were friends. Close friends, true, but nothing else."

"Yeah, how close?"

The tone was hard, brittle, but he knew better. Miss Swan, for all her hard-ass New York City bail-bonds person attitude had begun to have feelings for the deceased sheriff. And that necessitated a level of vulnerability that he knew was uncomfortable, not to mention hard to achieve. He knew what it was to feel like being alone was the safer, better option. And he knew the risks and the pain of letting someone in. It'd be unfair to let her memories of the sheriff be tainted by suspicions.

"Belle was born when I was a teenager and I loved her since the moment they placed her in my arms. Our parents... were no parents at all, lowlifes and conmen who had no business having children. I raised her, taught her her first words, saw her first steps, bought her clothes and made sure she ate. We... we were family, the two of us."

The pain that accompanied the recollection of his past was as vague as the memory itself, but it was real.

"But one day I was dumped with a couple of aunts while my parents took Belle for some scheme or the other. Wasn't that uncommon, I had been used in plenty of those as a tot. They never came back. Moved to fucking Australia, running away from a loan shark or ten, taking Belle with them because she was still useful. I was too old to elicit pity or play along without questioning. But I knew she'd at some point grow tired, or rebellious or simply too old like me and they'd dispose of her like they did me. So, I made it my mission to get her back. Earn enough money to support both of us, get a plane ticket and just... yank her out of there."

He could tell he had Miss Swan's undivided attention. She always seemed to be watching both of them, for some reason, always suspicious, but undeniably intrigued by their bond, by their nearness. Poor wretch didn't know what it was like to have a family, didn't know what it was to have someone be a part of you. She didn't understand, but she wanted to, on some level.

"Took years. Years to gain the means to support us and even more to find her. My parents never used their real names, and the ones they adopted didn't last long. It took them dying for me to find them, some car crash. When I went to Australia everyone I talked with claimed they'd never seen my sister. No one had ever seen her with them."

As he talked he looked at Belle, safe and sound a few feet away, talking to Hopper, Ruby like a sentinel by her side. A far cry from the little wisp of a thing he had found fading away in Brisbane.

"Turns out my wilful little Belle had outlived her usefulness a long time ago. Became a burden, so they had her committed to a mental fucking hospital. Passed the evidence of their abuse off as mental illness. She spent... years there. Locked up in some grungy little room, forgotten. When I managed to get her out she wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, wouldn't leave her room. I feared she'd forgotten me, that they had stripped everything that was her away at the asylum."

"So, what happened? I mean, Belle is such a lively person, clearly she's recovered from... everything."

With anyone else he would have thought the need to pry too much, too gossipy. Miss Swan, however, was not the type. She was good, annoyingly so, and had a great capacity for care, almost against her will. He felt the need to give her something, to show her a glimpse of the man she'd begun to fall for. Graham's association with Regina, as unsavoury as it had been, must have tainted him to her somehow. It seemed inevitable. But Gold was sure he had been a victim in it, like most people that had any sort of link to Regina. And though he couldn't explain this to Emma, he could at least give her a glimpse of Graham's true personality: loyal, kind-hearted and compassionate.

"Belle's resilient. Tough as nails, even though it doesn't show. At first, I thought I could make her better all by myself, chase whatever monsters plagued her on my own. But it soon became clear that there was a part of Belle, some dark and hidden part, that I couldn't reach. She'd have these... spells. Get very quiet, sleep very little. Hated being inside, hated walls and confined spaces in general. Graham... sensed that, somehow. Began taking her to hikes in the woods, and later to the animal shelter to volunteer. It became a thing. Whenever Belle got into a mood there was the good sheriff, ready to take Belle fishing or bird-watching or whatever else he could come up with. He'd always make time, and it would always do Belle good. She returned more herself, pieced back together in a way that I could never... That I have never been able."

The panic hit him all at once, like a sharp stab through the heart. He struggled to breathe, trying to imagine what he'd do the next time his little Belle went down a path he couldn't follow, couldn't pull her out of. Without Graham there to do something, he risked losing her.

"Hey, Gold, calm down, deep breaths."

He felt one of Miss Swan's hands on his back, doing something that was half-patting and half-rubbing, her body pressing up against his to make sure he stayed upright, as if unsure of his footing. He was glad they were far enough removed from everyone else that his little show of weakness went mostly unnoticed. He did feel, every now and then, Belle's attention on him, as familiar a feeling as the sun on his face.

"I'm fine, Miss Swan." He tried not to let her see how it bothered him to have her see him anything less than perfectly composed. He fiercely pushed aside the gnawing fear threatening to choke him and reminded himself why he was sharing this with Miss Swan. To repay, in some small way, a bit of the considerable debt he owed the late sheriff.

"I hope... I hope you won't judge the good sheriff harshly. I know there are... details about his personal life that were unsavoury, to say the least. But, if it's any consolation, I rather thought he was a man trapped by circumstance more than anything else."

"Thanks. Knowing the kind of person you are, opening up like this wasn't easy. I appreciate you doing it."

She glanced over at the freshly-filled grave, wistful tenderness blooming in her eyes. He imagined she was contemplating what could have been, what almost was. He thought about the sheriff's now empty apartment, about his things. Maybe he could offer Miss Swan a keepsake of sorts, something to hold onto. He put a call to Dove, who was in charge of packing up the sheriff's apartment- under strict orders of having everything put into storage as soon as possible, so Regina could lay claim to nothing- and arranged for a box of personal items to be delivered later to the pawnshop. The rest was to be sold and the proceeds donated to the animal shelter, as per Graham's instructions.

The drive home from the cemetery was a quiet one, but not the sort of silence that sat well between them. There was a coldness to his sister that he didn't like, a distance that didn't have anything to do with the melancholia that had set in since Graham had been pronounced dead. There was something faintly accusatory about her eyes, the way she pressed her lips together. After a quiet dinner she retired immediately to her bedroom, which she never did, and her made a conscious effort to let her. Seeking Belle out when she was closed-off never worked. She tended to shy away even more, retreat further into herself. Only Graham was able to reach out successfully but without him he'd have to trust that Belle would come to him when ready.

When she stopped by with his lunch- he had a bad habit of skipping meals if left to his own devices- he brought her the box with the sheriff's personal possessions, thinking that she bringing him food was a small way to try and re-establish the bond.

"What, Miss Swan didn't want any of this?"

Her voice was so brittle it was almost unrecognisable.

"What?"

"I know you were kind enough to offer her Graham's stuff. And she might be satisfied with the walkie-talkies for now, but what if she wants more later? I'd rather not pick something that Emma might later want to claim. Thanks for the afterthought, though."

Though he expected her to sit and have lunch with him, as she often did, she waltzed out of the shop before he could even process her last words.

* * *

She wanted to be happy for him. After all, she had liked Emma Swan well enough for Graham when it had become obvious the sheriff was getting attached. She'd even encouraged such an attachment, seeing how it was managing to draw Graham away from the mayor and her poisonous affection. Though she worried that the blonde might decide to leave Storybrooke as abruptly as she'd arrived, she had still nudged her friend in her direction, hoping for the best.

But it wasn't just Graham's attention Miss Swan had managed to catch. Henry seemed besotted with her, even though she'd already given him up once and was liable to do so again. Graham was an adult, he could cope with rejection and disappointment, but Henry was a kid already dealing with a difficult family situation. He was fragile, for all his boundless optimism and cheerfulness. Emma Swan could do a lot of damage there with minimum effort. And considering her own upbringing, and her own parents, it was easy to justify why she felt a bit of hostility with the newcomer whenever it came to Henry.

It was difficult, however, to justify similar thoughts when it came to her brother. She had noticed his blossoming interest in Emma Swan early on, but she had given it little thought, thinking it had more to do with one-upping the mayor than anything else. She'd often wondered about the source of such dislike, how it almost seemed like Regina Mills had done something personal to him, something other than squabbling for power. She'd wondered if perhaps the mayor hadn't unkindly rejected some romantic advance her brother had made in the past, though something about that theory seemed off. But Rabbie delighted in toying with the other woman a bit too much to let her rest easy. In that sense his newfound interest in Emma should've made her happy. She was miles more palatable than Miss Mills. But, far from it, it unsettled her. The way he said her name, Emma, made the skin on the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably, as if it held some sort of power.

Perhaps she'd been encouraging of Graham's suit because it allowed her to rest easy when it came to her brother's heart, and the thought, now that the sheriff was dead, made her sick. He'd been so good to her, so supportive, but she'd been willing to risk his heart to protect her brother's. And she hadn't even been able to give her friend her full attention at his own funeral, not with the way Rabbie and Miss Swan had spent most of it whispering to each other, heads close and body language intimate.

And now Emma Swan was acting sheriff, Graham's badge on her belt and one of his walkie-talking always nearby, the other in the hands of little Henry, looking like she might love to stay. And Belle hated herself for caring about that at a time when her friend's death should occupy her thoughts completely. Hated herself for the distance she was forcing between herself and Rabbie, who she knew was worried. Who thought her kind and good and had no idea she was petty and jealous and was worrying him just because she couldn't deal with the idea that he might not want to be just hers anymore. Rabbie had always been the one person whose love was constant and all-encompassing, who always had time for her, who was, in a way, hers alone. She had never before had to even contemplate the idea of sharing him with anyone, and hadn't realised it'd upset her so, that she would be so selfish as to want to keep him from making a meaningful connection with someone else.

She could see it, what could possibly draw them both together. Desperate souls, prickly and damaged, with a sort of sarcastic veneer and a standoffish nature. They could be good for each other, and she needed to make her peace with it. Needed to get her act together, needed to sleep and eat and function like a human being again before she worried her brother to death.

It wasn't until she knocked on his door and got no answer that she realised it was a little past three in the morning. Softly she opened the door, wishing to erase the distance she herself had created during the last few days. Rabbie seemed sound asleep, dark circles under his eyes indicating, however, that he wasn't doing much better than her. She brushed the hair out of his eyes toeing off her slippers and tucking herself right next to Rabbie, like she'd done a million times in the past when a nightmare or something else had unsettled her in the night. Instinctively he turned to the side, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"We're good?"

His voice was soft and uncertain, almost afraid. Belle snuggled closer to him, as if it was possible, trying to make up for the hurt she'd caused.

"We're good."

She closed her eyes, humming in contentment when he began to recite an old Scottish poem, his accent deepening until the world ceased to make sense and her eyes finally grew heavy with sleep. If and when the moment came, and if Emma Swan proved worthy, she'd be ready to let Rabbie go, ready to share him with someone else. But until then he was hers and she was his and all was right with the world.


End file.
